We Mustn't Touch What Isn't Ours
by Dena Gray
Summary: The castle will not relinquish Severus Snape from being Headmaster, and the Headmaster will not relinquish Miss Granger from her duties as his assistant. For any reason. A/U, EWE, SSHG, Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

I _**must **_be crazy. Starting two new fics, on the same day, and waaay before I'm finished with Lioness? SMH, yes, I'm crazy. This new fic is a gift to the lovely Perry Downing, who has reviewed just about every HP fic I've written and nearly every chapter therein as well! I am constantly astounded by your kindness, Perry! Much love to you, and I hope you enjoy this, but it will not be over quickly ;)

**Chapter 1 **

"Good afternoon, Mister Snape, how are we today?"

Severus grunted in answer, moodily watching the obnoxiously chipper attendant sweep through his recovery suite at St. Mungo's and rake open the curtains for his obligatory 'view'. Sneering back down to his crossword puzzle from yesterday's Prophet, he rather thought he could do without a grand picture window overlooking a white brick wall five feet out, but it reflected sunshine, and that's what 'Sandra-Dee' repeatedly ordered.

She came around the side of his bed and pulled the crossword out of his hands in order to gain his full attention. He gave her an offended look and went to reach after it. It was his, for Pete's Sake! Sodding nurses and their thinking that they could do whatever they wanted...it was enough to drive him well again.

'Sandra-Dee', whose real name Severus couldn't be bothered with remembering, tucked the paper into a drawer on his bedside nightstand and smiled, "Same as usual, then? All right. How about I bring you something to read _later_?"

He flared his nostrils and glared at the drawer that was too far to reach in that direction without severe discomfort. Narrowing his eyes at the saccharine witch, he inhaled shakily and ground out, "If you must subject me to this (wheeze) boredom (wheeze-cough) then why break it at all?"

Her watery blue eyes snapped to his in concern as she fluttered forth with a conjured glass of water. "You know you're not supposed to talk until your throat heals up. Now, before you get all worked up, you've got a visitor, which is why I'm not bringing you something to read right now."

He gratefully sipped the cool liquid, but grimaced when she said he had a visitor. Probably Potter again, the sycophantic arse.

"That Mister Potter sat here for a full hour while you ignored him for yesterday's paper. Which I know for a fact you'd read cover to cover only an hour before!"

He snorted in response, cutting another glare at the nurse, which rewarded him with her continued yammering, "So I'm not bringing you anything to read until Professor McGonagall has gone.

Blood leached from his face as he heard the impossible words falling out of Sandra-Dee's mouth, inhaled too sharply and started coughing again. It would be a fine, crisp day in hell before he'd want to spend time battling recriminations from that harpy. The silly baggage before him thought it was a Nice Thing, so he needed to set her straight. Taking a slow, steady-ish breath, he crossed his arms over his chest and said, "You can send that (wheeze) hellcat back to Scotland."

The nurse conjured and handed him a handkerchief to cough into, which he snatched out of her hands with a silent snarl. He tried to count how many glares he could throw at her before she started in with how good visitors were for his recovery.

He got to three before she said her favorite line, "Now, Mister Snape. It's clinically proven that visitors help speed up recovery time. Don't you want to get out of here?"

He glared again when she pulled the water from his hand and vanished the glass. Did the woman come with a script? That was nearly verbatim her line from yesterday before she let Potter in. He coughed again into the square of cloth and thought that perhaps the objection to visitors they didn't want was the real motive behind increased patient recovery rates.

She took his pensive gaze as acquiescence and started for the door. "So, I'll just go let her in and you be nice or I'll have to bring you ice instead of ice cream later."

The witch had to be nineteen or twenty. Where in Hades did she get off shaking her finger at him like he was some recalcitrant child being bribed with ice cream? His black eyes narrowed again and he slowly enunciated, "I see I'm exchanging one harridan for a (cough) nother. Fine. Let the witch in."

At least with Minerva, he wouldn't be subjected to constant saccharine, sunshine and daisies. It was enough to turn a man's stomach.

Sandra-Dee gave him a chastising look and popped her head out the solid walnut door. "You can see him now, but don't stay too long, he's in a _good_ mood." Severus' eyebrow arched up at her tonal indication that 'good' meant 'not'.

He had to strain to hear Minerva's response from the hallway, "That's all right, Verna; I know what he's like."

Verna, yes, that was her name. Ah well, he'd probably forget it in a few minutes. It wasn't like it mattered, he'd be leaving here in a few weeks as soon as he was cleared from treatment, anyway.

Many different things ran, bounced and played havoc in his head as he watched the newly-named Headmistress of Hogwarts walk sedately into the room. As she moved closer, he saw a heavy gravitas in her posture that seemed to weigh down on her sharp shoulders. A bright streak of silver shot through her hair from each temple, something he'd watch encroach on her iron black tresses over the past year or so.

He sighed internally, wondering how many of those silver strands were from dealing with him. Eying her again, he thought that perhaps she looked a bit more stooped than he remembered.

Stress apparently did not sit well on Minerva's shoulders.

The nurse closed the solid door behind her and Minerva was left standing at the foot of his hospital bed, looking as if she'd much rather be anywhere else but in a room with him. Not that he could really blame her, but like hell he'd look away from that stony-eyed stare she was subjecting him to at the moment. He silently counted to thirty-three before she finally broke with a stammering blush, "Well, the least you could do is nod or something. I didn't come all the way down here just to stare at you."

There must be something seriously wrong for her to get so defensive so quickly. There was no love lost between them—Albus had made sure of that—but he at least expected general pleasantry before the snarling began. Externally, all he did was continue staring back at her, waiting with a raised eyebrow for her to deign he was worthy of whatever she had to say to him this day.

Her upper lip pursed out a slight bit, something he was very interested to remember was usually a tell for her hiding humor at something. After another moment of her glaring between his eyes and his eyebrows, she finally relented with a huff, "At least that still works. Merlin knows, the earth would shift off its axis if Severus Snape couldn't glare with his eyebrows."

Was that supposed to be an insult? He scowled at her to try and get her to the point before her Gryffindor colors ran maudlin.

Apparently the scowl was what she'd been waiting for. With a wry smile, she acknowledged it, "Ah, that's more familiar." His scowl deepened as he watched her look around for seating. Finding none—he'd vanished more chairs than the nurses could successfully conjure and the resultant compromise was for any visitors to bring their own—Minerva conjured a soft leather armchair and shifted it with her foot hooked around the leg to face Severus more clearly. The leather groaned as she sat on its tufted surface and once she settled in, they recommenced staring quietly at each other.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to make it easy on her, so she'd have to eventually tell him whatever it was that was important enough to beard him in his den, so to speak. A contemplative gleam hit her glittering eyes and she finally decided to talk, "You know, you could have told us you were on our side."

His eyes flew open in surprise. That certainly wasn't what he'd expected. He snorted his disbelief and gave her a look that spoke volumes about his concern for her sanity.

As that hadn't been an unusual expression from him, she continued on an apparent rant, "You and that secretive old bastard. I can't believe you two! We tried to kill you several times, you know!"

He was surprised she admitted as such, but alas, yes, he'd been fully aware. How else was he still around to hear of it? With a level stare that was much more subdued than he really wanted—borderline sentimental, really—he nodded once or twice and sighed, looking down at his hands folded in his lap atop the counterpane.

"Severus," She hesitantly began, "I don't understand why you or Albus couldn't have at least told _me_. I'm really quite confused about all this."

He shook his head in further disbelief. Did she honestly think it would have been any less confusing had she known? He took a steadying breath but coughed. Damned snakebite was still affecting his respiratory system and he fought to regain control of the wheezing response. He'd heard Minerva stand up out of her chair, but was surprised when he felt a cold glass push into his hands. He'd gotten so used to the nurses doing this, he automatically took a sip to calm the cough, but once it was under control, he saw Minerva and her pitying, fretting fuss standing over him. He glared at her, then the glass, then vanished it with a thought. She blinked at his abrupt removal of her simple application of help, and moved to sit back down.

He waited until she was settled again before rasping out a sentence, which started out as 'it's my life, not yours' but ended up simply, "My life."

Her narrowed gaze told him she'd caught on to his meaning. "Is this some tripe about you leading your life as you please?"

With a quick shrug and a flippant hand gesture, he conveyed for her to think what she wanted.

She gave back an equally perturbed and mulish expression, then pressed onwards, "Potter showed everyone your memories when he thought you were...dead."

He glared at her as if she'd really lost her mind. What kind of segue was that? He knew very well that the sanctimonious prat paraded around his very personal memories for the general public's pleasure. It was all the papers would talk about for weeks, exploring such subjects as speculating on Potter's true parentage and what his Amortentia smelled like. The only part that mattered was that he'd been exonerated from any criminal activity; and fat lot of good that would do if every time he'd been reminded of his so-called heroism, he wanted to strangle anyone that mentioned it.

Looking over at Minerva's pitying expression, he rather thought 'case in point'.

She looked positively _motherly_ when she followed up with, "You've really quite vindicated yourself, you know."

He snorted, rolled his eyes and took another steadying breath, "What (cough) why are you here?" He hoped he could convey his intended implication of telling her to hurry up and get on with it.

Her smile vanished—thank Merlin—and she straightened in her seat. "Ah. Well, I'm sure you're aware that we're getting on with repairing the school."

He looked up to the ceiling, inhaled and looked back down at her, gesturing for her to _get on with it._

At that, her gaze faltered and she looked down at her hands, fussing in her lap. "I've been-ahem-I've been named to take over as Headmistress."

She peeked up at him over her spectacles and he glared at her, nodding impatiently. He knew all this, it'd been in the papers as well.

"Right, well." She took a breath to shore up for her next words, "There is a slight issue, with that."

He patiently waited through an awkward pause but after a moment, cut his eyes at her in disdain. Whatever it was, she could bloody well spit it out.

She glared back at him and spat it out, "I don't suppose you could give me the password to the headmaster's office?"

He blinked at her, completely confused. Out of all the things that he could have expected, this was _not _it. The password? But—

She continued, interrupting his thoughts, "After the battle, it seems to have locked itself down, much like when that horrid Umbridge had taken over."

There was nothing to do but plainly stare at Minerva. The password?

She kept talking, taking his confusion as not understanding her meaning, "The gargoyle won't step aside for any of the administrative overrides and merely states that he is guarding the post for the headmaster. We thought perhaps he meant Albus, but of course that was wrong since Hogwarts knows when a head passes."

Shock. He must surely be in shock. Why else could he just sit there, dumbfounded, and just wait for her to come up with the answer that was so obvious in his brain. He was partly gratified that Hogwarts kept faith with him as chief protector of the castle, but surely the old girl could move on to a more appropriate Head, now?

She interrupted his thoughts again with a summative, "So."

Shaking his head in disbelief, he inhaled, coughed, swallowed, glared, then spoke, "I broke the passwords (cough) when I left that night (cough cough)."

"But-"

"There is no password."

Her head tilted to the left and her eyebrows met tightly above her pinched nose. She was obviously confounded, but what was he supposed to do about that? She couldn't get in the office, and he didn't want to get in the office. She'd been apparently thinking along the same lines, for she fumbled out her next words, "Then you'll have to _give up_ the position to me?"

Glad she'd said it before he had to, he breathed out, "Consider it done, I don't want it."

Oddly enough, he'd rather expected a bit of magic after passing the headmastery to her, but...there was nothing. He shook his head to dispel any sense of obligation. It wasn't _his_ problem anymore.

She seemed pleased, but then tilted her head at him in speculation, "I don't understand. You really don't want it?"

Now that he'd done his part, why wasn't she going? He glowered at her and sucked in a breath in agitation, "You got what you-cough cough cough" His words devolved into a coughing fit and once he realized he couldn't speak past it, he just pointed to the door with an angry glare. Just for good measure, he started tapping the button to call the nurse back in for help.

Minerva looked appropriately panicked, but refused to leave until the nurse arrived, which thankfully was only a moment. Sandra-Dee must have been listening in.

The nurse trotted over to him with a glass of water, which he took and sucked down greedily. She turned to Minerva and gave her an apologetic look, "Oh dear, you've got him coughing. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Minerva looked uncomfortable, but muttered a quick goodbye and slipped out the door.

/

After recovering from his coughing fit, Severus sat back on his convalescent bed, thinking through all the ramifications of Hogwarts refusing entry to anyone but him. It was heartening, to know that at least the castle knew and trusted him during his reign of terror.

He thought through the ridiculous amount of people that heralded him as a hero. He'd much rather have people still hate him. Hate was an honest emotion, at least. Take Potter's wife. She couldn't stand Severus, regardless of Potter's protestations and delusions of decency. At least the former Miss Weasley was honest in her emotions. Potter, on the other hand, seemed about to wee himself whenever he was in the same room as Severus, hanging on to every stilted and wheezed word that might work its way out of his mouth.

It was disgusting and a complete turnabout from their mutual hatred from before.

He set back against the mountain of pillows against the headboard and sighed. Why couldn't Potter have left well enough alone? Severus was supposed to be dead, but that idiot Gryffindor told St. Mungo's where to find him and those canny bastards revived him with his own potions.

It wasn't enough that he'd been saved from the eternal peace he'd been expecting. Now he had to suffer the consequences of being revealed a hero. He was supposed to be left alone now, but apparently Hogwarts thought otherwise. On a whim, he searched within himself for the castle's wards and sighed in resignation when he felt Minerva try to enter the Headmaster's office again...and fail.

It had been several weeks, and only lack of proximity and consciousness had prevented him from knowing what the castle maintained: Severus was still the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Part of him was terrified of the constant villainy he'd be subjected to by returning to the school in any capacity, but another part of him was intrigued by the idea of going back and correcting his wrongs. He certainly didn't want to go back _under _Minerva.

So. Perhaps he would do this...the only question that remained was how long could he hold out before telling _them_?

A/N: So? What do you think? :D


	2. Chapter 2

aaand that's what I get for copy/pasting the chapter. sorry for the confusion folks. repost without crazy html

**Chapter 2 **

Minerva stalked into the staffroom with all the heat of July in Scotland upon her return from her third visit to Severus. How dare that man have the gall to say he'd consider returning _if_ she fulfilled his list of demands _required_ to ensure his return to a job that was so obviously _his_? Putting herself in such a mendicant position was taxing already, but to have to practically _beg_ that blasted Severus Snape to come back and keep Hogwarts open was utterly humiliating to her Gryffindor and Scottish pride. There was a small conscience in the back of her brain that reminded her it was only his due after their repeated murder attempts last year, but she quickly shut those out of her mind with a plaintive huff.

"Damn him," she muttered to herself as she shoved the heavy door closed behind her. Everything was in place and had all been taken care of, before the castle intervened. She would have taken command of the school and Severus would have slunk off to wherever hell he chose. It was all set and perfect, until the _school_ decided to keep her out of the Head's office.

Hesitation colored her thoughts as she was reminded that it _was_ the castle, itself, that was insisting Severus was still Headmaster. Surely, it had its reasons, but for the life of her, she couldn't fathom what they were.

Her musings were interrupted by Pomona's gentle inquiry, "Well?"

She really didn't feel like talking about it, so prevaricated, "Well, what?" Wincing and feeling immediately regretful for her tone with the herbology professor, she softened it with a smile as she turned to her fully.

Pomona's easy nature had her grimacing in sympathy, "What did he _say_, Minerva? Did he finally agree?"

With a dejected nod, she looked down to the cold fireplace beside her, then back up to Albus' empty picture frame above it, narrowing her eyes at the absent bastard. "He agreed but said he'd make us a list of his _requirements—_of all the nerve." She looked back to Pomona and ground out between tight teeth, "I imagine he'll demand the moon, but it'll make no difference. If it's in our power, we have to do it or the school won't be able to open this fall." Minerva cast her gaze around the room and saw just how much of the staff was still here. Many of them had stayed behind to help rebuild the school after the final battle against Riddle, and as it was getting late in the afternoon and repairs were winding down, they'd taken a light break together to await Minerva's return.

Rolanda spoke up from across the room where she'd been sitting with Filius and a flask of something questionable. "I thought he would be in a better mood when everyone knew he was a hero and on our side. He wouldn't have to pretend to be such an arse anymore."

Before Minerva could abate her laughter to answer, Poppy had interjected just as appropriately, "Ha! You think he was just pretending?"

Their laughter sobered as each regarded the school nurse's bitter expression. They all knew Poppy would know best. She'd known him the most out of all of them and it wasn't missed that she'd not known of his role in the war, either.

The flying instructor broke the uneasy silence, "Wasn't he? Isn't that was the papers have been saying?"

Filius laughed with Poppy and Minerva and as soon as she'd controlled herself, the still-Deputy Headmistress corrected her, "Good heavens, no! Severus Snape has always been a surly bastard." Poppy turned a wounded look to Minerva, which begged her to respond in placation, "Oh, don't look at me like that. He's had a rougher life than any of us, I don't doubt it, but none of it was made any easier by his abrasive nature."

To say that they'd needed something to laugh about in these sad and desperate times was a bit obvious, regardless of how bittersweet the sound or how cynical the subject. It was Filius who spoke out loud what everyone was thinking, "So. What does that mean when he comes back?"

All of them looked at each other, measuring the difference between now and the last time they'd all made plans regarding the current Headmaster. It would be new and uncharted territory that they would have to wait and explore until Snape sent his list of demands. Until then, all they had was levity to appease the tension. Minerva took advantage of that thought and quipped, "I haven't the slightest idea. I'm sure he'll cancel Christmas; he's always hated that."

Apparently the others agreed and chuckled behind an impromptu toast to the new school year.

/

Three days later, and three and a half weeks before term was set to start, a large soot-black owl winged into the Great Hall, interrupting the last day of Hogwarts' planned repairs. It found Minerva just as she was releasing all the workers from the project and all the castle's inhabitants swarmed her and the owl. She shooed it and them away so she could read the scroll Severus had sent, but shock stopped her actions as the parchment unrolled to the floor. Several teachers stepped closer to inspect the ridiculously long list, but Minerva couldn't withhold her tongue, "Oh, that _man_!"

Pomona hadn't been able to get as close as Poppy, Filius and Rolanda had, so called over Filius' head, "What does it say?"

The Deputy Headmistress kept reading...and reading and reading. She made a disgusted click of her tongue and waved the bullet-point essay in the air, "I told you he'd ask for the moon!"

Filius started picking up the end of the scroll, trying to read it from that end, "What's in it? What does it say?"

"It's a whole damned list of reforms to the curriculum and...Merlin." Minerva thrust the rest of it at him with a hopeless feeling overwhelming her. "He wants an assistant. I don't understand, he'll have me as his Deputy."

Shock set them all silently staring at each other. Was she to be thrust completely out of running the school? After giving decades of her life to the administration and teaching of this school, was she being ousted as they'd tried to do to Severus last year? She stared down at the parchment slowly moving through the Charms Professor's hands. Why would Severus do such a thing? Was he really as petty as they'd all thought him to be?

Poppy bullied her way into the center of the group and asked Filius for the scroll. Minerva was watching her for some sort of insight into these actions when Rolanda interjected, "Is this his way of thumbing his nose at you?"

The nurse surprised everyone by snorting and absently answering, "No. No, he'd thumb that great nose of his, regardless. Hmm."

Minerva watched her continue reading down to the part where he was demanding an assistant, but grew impatient as she skipped back up to the top and started again, "So what do you think it means?"

Poppy blinked up from the parchment and looked around, then back down again. "You know, I hadn't thought it possible, but after reading this, he just might be _afraid_ of coming back. Judging by the two choices of assistant he's demanding, I'd say he's looking for ways to protect himself."

Pomona asked a plaintive, "Who?"

Poppy smiled and answered, "Well, he's listed the obvious: Draco Malfoy..."

She'd trailed off with a smirk and handed the parchment back to Minerva, who started rolling it back up efficiently. The two women traded looks that spoke volumes and stirred the curiosity of everyone around them.

Pomona prompted again, "And the other?"

Minerva gave a pinched smile, knowing she'd have better luck with one than the other, given current circumstances. "I'm sure it doesn't matter. Mister Malfoy will certainly agree to it."

At least, she hoped he would. It would be entirely too awkward to approach a grief-stricken Hermione Granger with such a request as this.

(end chapter)

A/N: short, I know, but we're moving along! I've got a good bit of this story written, I just need to flesh it out and Draco is misbehaving (naughty boy). let me know what you think! xoxo Dena


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"No."

Minerva had just finished laying out the situation to young Malfoy when he responded so abruptly. She paused mid-sip of her tea and set the cup down sharply in the porcelain saucer. "What do you mean, 'no'?" Lending a bit of a gimlet stare into the mix, she'd hoped to intimidate the boy into acquiescence.

His pale, drawn face simply tightened into a haughty imitation of his imprisoned father as he repeated himself. "'No' means '_no_', Professor. I'm sure you're perfectly aware of the definition." He sat back in the emerald silk velvet settee and stared back without the slightest intimation of remorse.

She was surprised at how capable he seemed. Masterful, even. It drove her to appeal to him again, as that was exactly the kind of attitude she expected Severus was looking for in a protector—erm—assistant. "Mister Malfoy, we are in a dire situation, here. Hogwarts needs you."

His young, charming smile was bitter and scoffing. "Like hell I'm going back there." He looked about the room, specifically to the portrait of his parents dominating the wall facing the bank of windows overlooking the peacock garden. After a beat of silence, he continued. "I've got the run of the Malfoy fortune, now. That's a big enough job on it's own. I don't need any more responsibility than that, much less to go back and play flunky and scapegoat for Snape at a school that would likely not want anything to do with me."

Minerva was shocked at his casual dismissal and representation of his alma mater, much less his former professor. "Mister Malfoy, he was your head of house!"

"He was also my godfather, which means I know exactly the kind of task master he is. The answer is no."

Minerva rushed to interject, "But-"

Draco rang a small bell, cutting his former professor off before she started. When a small elf popped into view, he instructed rather firmly, "Dimity, see that Professor McGonagall is shown the way out as soon as she finishes her tea." The elf looked over to her and nodded gravely, after which her master nodded curtly and strode out the parlor door, calling, "Good day, Professor," over his shoulder as he went.

The older witch blinked, shut her mouth, then sputtered indignantly, "Well!" With a hardened glare, she purposefully drank the rest of her tea before allowing the diminutive elf to 'show her out'.

Now, what was she to do?

/

Minerva was at a complete loss. The last item on Severus' list was to obtain an assistant and the most obvious choice had flatly refused her. The second choice would work—in fact, she'd do very well in such a position—but Minerva was very reticent to contact her.

Hermione Granger had just suffered a terrible loss, after all. She was sure that five weeks after losing her parents to a vehicular accident in Australia, and three weeks after breaking her engagement to Mister Weasley, Miss Granger would certainly not want to put herself through the political intrigues and social difficulties of assisting their rather recalcitrant Headmaster with returning to Hogwarts.

She shook her head and squared her shoulders, mounting the steps to Miss Granger's Edinburgh flat. There really wasn't an option, though, was there? If she wanted Hogwarts to open in three weeks, it was this or nothing. Minerva would just have to hope that five weeks of grieving was enough for her former pupil.

She rapped smartly with the brass door-knocker and waited for the door to open. Surprise was evident in both their features as Miss Granger opened the door rather quickly to see her former Head of House on her doorstep.

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger."

After a moment's hesitation, where Hermione took in Minerva's tweed suit and Minerva took in Hermione's tailored black blouse and trousers, the younger woman stepped aside and asked, "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you."

Minerva's surprise went further to see that Miss Granger's flat was...spartan. No pictures, no warm blankets or pillows...no flowers...just very sharp and cold furniture and very little of even that. Not anything like what she'd remembered of her parents former home at all. She glanced sideways at her former charge and looked for any sign of grief or exhaustion that she'd remembered feeling upon the loss of her husband so many years ago. There was none to be found.

Hermione Granger's face was as implacable and static as Severus Snape's had ever been.

There was an awkward moment of staring at each other until Miss Granger invited her to sit down. Minerva started to say something several times, but was severely disturbed by what she was seeing.

"Forgive me for being blunt, Professor, but spit it out. You obviously came here for a reason."

There! That! When did Miss Granger ever become so cold and...and...snappish? Finding the allusion to the Headmaster in that thought, she also found her bearings and shored up for the confrontation she was sure to come.

With a sharp inhalation through her pinched nostrils, Minerva girded for war and started out with, "The school year is soon upon us, and as you probably know, I was named Headmistress."

Miss Granger nodded. "My apologies, Headmistress, for addressing you incorrectly."

She flattened her expression in an attempt to keep from glaring at the younger woman. "Yes, well, apparently Hogwarts had other ideas."

When no response came, Minerva continued. "The gargoyle stands guardian for the return of Severus Snape as Headmaster and will not allow anyone past."

Hermione stared her former professor down with a suspicious look. When the older witch did not give, Hermione spoke, "Um, I'm sorry, I'm confused. Harry used the Headmaster's pensieve in his office the night of battle. There was no password."

Minerva felt like she was chewing glass to say it, "There is now."

They continued their assessments of one another, but for some unnerving reason, Hermione won. Minerva just couldn't fathom the glass-hard stare her former pupil now held, and looked down to her twisting fingers before stating, "We have asked Severus to return, but he has requested certain...concessions before agreeing to do so."

The young woman leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. They were both silent for some time before Hermione spoke, "And this involves me how? Am I an apparent _concession_?" Her tone made it sound like something ridiculous.

And damned if Minerva couldn't agree with her. "Yes."

That, at least, got something more than a cold reception from her. She dropped her arms, gripping the chair with both hands by her legs and nearly shrieked, "What?"

The older witch blanched when she realized what that had sounded like, and moved quickly to clarify. "Yes, you were a request of his. He wants an assistant to his role as Headmaster."

This seemed to calm her a bit and she quickly tossed her hair out of her face. "And I was his request?"

Minerva swallowed and corrected, "Actually, he made a list of two acceptable assistants."

Incredulous, Hermione barked in bitter laughter. "Who was the other?"

"Mister Malfoy."

Her eyes narrowed and she slumped back in her seat, looking off to the kitchenette in apparent apathy. "Well, you can go ask the Ferret. I'm not your girl."

Minerva cleared her throat. "I already have."

Hermione's bitter gaze swung back to her former professor's. "You actually asked him first?"

When had she gotten this conceited? The older witch searched the hardened gaze of her former pupil for some semblance of the young lioness she'd once known. Where was the champion for house elf rights? Where was the respectful prefect? The studious, deferential girl that every teacher loved? She found it hard to reconcile what she'd known with what she was being shown. "Not to be insulting, but yes." Something of a mothering instinct rose within her to try and find some explanation for her behavior. "I know you've had...difficulty, lately."

She snorted, "_That's_ an understatement."

Minerva's dark eyes narrowed in chastisement. "Regardless, you stand as the last concession to allow Severus to return as Headmaster and for Hogwarts to open in three weeks."

A sharp look passed between them and Hermione bit off, "Left that a bit late, didn't we?"

Her mouth dropped at the blatantly disrespectful tone from the young woman. "Not that it's any of your business, but I had to beg Professor Snape for two weeks to even get the concessions out of him." Her passion for her cause rose to the forefront, pulling her real reasons out of her mouth before she was ready, "I just can't let Hogwarts to remain closed. It's more important now than ever for such a bastion of normality in our world to continue on as always before."

Hermione's face went cold. She stilled in her chair and Minerva was struck that she'd received more respect and hospitality from a Slytherin than a Gryffindor that day. Before she could fully process the series of questions that burned through her brain, Hermione had quietly spat out, "Normality. When was my life there ever _normal_?"

Now that, Minerva had to hand her. When _had_ her life at Hogwarts ever been normal? They were quiet for a few moments, thinking back on the trials and tribulations behind them.

The older witch was startled when the younger boldly asked, "Would I receive pay?"

She blinked and nodded. "Of course. And room and board." Was there still hope?

Hermione's response was almost a sneer, but she appeared to be holding herself in check. "I should ask for battle pay, having to be the one to deal with Professor Snape. What would be my duties as his assistant?"

Minerva was nearly bowled over at this about-face, but quickly took advantage by outlining her duties as requested, "You would handle his correspondence at his direction, make his appointments, arrange any press conferences or statements throughout the year, and probably various other administrative duties that the headmaster or deputy normally handles."

Hermione seemed to think this over carefully, chewing on her bottom lip for a few moments as she stared up at the plain white ceiling of her muggle flat. The older woman briefly wondered again at the reason for such an ascetic décor when she was interrupted by the younger woman's sigh of defeat, "Oh, what the hell else have I got to do?"

"What?"

It was as resigned Hermione that restated, "I'll do it."

Minerva couldn't believe her ears, and her hearing was damned near perfect. She blinked twice at the girl and asked, "You will?"

With a sigh, she snarked, "I can easily back out."

Minerva was quick to point out, "There is a contract."

"Well, then I can get him to fire me." They exchanged narrowed eyes until Hermione relented, "What kind of contract?"

"It binds you to the position for the upcoming school year. You wouldn't be released until June."

She pulled the parchment out of her tweed jacket pocket and handed it to Hermione. The girl quickly read through, muttering something about a safety clause before sighing again, "All right." She summoned a quill and signed the parchment, then they both watched as it turned gold and winked off to the headmaster's desk.

The air was crackling with static energy when Hermione finally looked back up to Minerva and asked, "When do I start?"

"I assume he will send you a letter outlining his requirements as soon as he takes office, but I expect you'll be needed next week."

With a careful nod between them, and a somewhat awkward goodbye, Minerva was left with the unsettling question of whether this was a good arrangement or not.

Only time would tell.

Author's end chapter note: Holy Kenobi, Hermione came out of NOWHERE! I really have to think about this before the next chapter. Hmm!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Oh My Gawwwwd, everyone, THANK YOU for being so very patient. I am still here, and I have every intention of finishing all open SSHG stories. That being said, I've been working like MAD to try and get more material up since I've been absent for over a year! I'm so sorry! You can slap me with wet noodles later, but I've got a few chapters ready for ya! Here goes!

Oh, and please forgive me if the "changes to Hogwarts" is too (unoriginal, contrived, weird, WTF, insert derogatory descriptive here). For some reason, it kept sticking with the story. IDK *shrugs*

**Chapter 4**

"Remember to drink plenty of water, and keep well-rested."

Severus turned and glared at the overly-cheerful nurse as he used his much-missed and newly-returned wand to clean the room of any remaining evidence of himself. His paranoia may be a bit late in the game, but there was no sense in being lazy. A few hairs, a smattering of dust, and one toenail flew towards him from all corners of the room into a rolling ball of DNA, which he promptly banished.

Sandra-Dee's returning glare was almost laughable in its ineffectiveness. "Don't forget to take your potions. All of them, now! You've got another two weeks to go." She tapped her pale purple fingernail on the rack of vials sat on the side table for emphasis.

While his coughing had greatly reduced, he was still suffering occasional episodes and had no intention of missing a dose in order to get his voice back to one hundred percent. He did, however, have every intention to remake each of the potions to his standards as soon as he arrived at Hogwarts and, therefore, reduced the rack to stow in his pocket for safe travels.

That was condition number five: a full laboratory attached to the Headmaster's quarters for his use only.

To be able to have his own workspace, uncluttered by school stock potions or any upper form student's projects… he sighed quietly in anticipation and almost – _almost_ – smiled. Almost.

A heavy sigh near his shoulder alerted him to the nurse's presence next to him. He tucked his wand up his sleeve (ah, to be in his own clothes again – albeit a dark pewter gray instead of the unrelieved black. Condition number seven, altered to suit his purposes), sketched a quick bow to Verna (damn, he'd hoped not to remember her name) and stalked away down the corridor and out of the abandoned storefront.

First thing's first. He needed to check on his wards at Spinner's End and gather a few things he'd hidden away there. With a determined spin, he popped off home.

Hogwarts, after that.

\\\\\

He was able to apparate directly into the entrance courtyard. Even after the evidence his magic supplied him that Hogwarts still recognized him as Headmaster, a part of him held onto a smidgen of disbelief. Looking up at the great gray edifice, he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and walked confidently towards the large, defensive doors marking the main entrance to his home for the past twenty-seven years. As he approached, the doors unlocked of their own accord and swung inwardly.

Severus was at a loss for words. Light shone brilliantly through the ancient stained glass Hogwarts shield and welcomed him into a mostly empty hall. It was almost more beautiful than arriving fresh off the boat as a firstie. Almost, because of the lone figure standing to...well, he wasn't certain if she was interested in welcoming him, but she was standing there, nonetheless.

He continued walking forward with all the implied confidence in the world, stopping only as soon as he'd reached a respectful conversation distance from his Deputy.

They stared each other down, and he noted a slightly defeated and worried look about her. He blinked twice and decided to bury the hatchet, so to speak. He'd likely need all the help he could get, if they all were as wary of him as (or more than) she was.

"Is everyone here?"

She nodded once, quickly, briefly. "Everyone save Miss Granger. I left that to you to coordinate since she's to be your assistant. And Professor Binns seems to be unresponsive when we approach him. Are you sure he needs to attend?"

He nodded distractedly as his stomach did a small flip at the mention of the brightest student he'd ever taught. Between her and Draco, he'd hoped to have the opportunity to amend past wrongs in their education by bringing one of them in as an assistant. He'd realistically hoped for Draco, but secretly wished for Miss Granger. There was so much he could teach her… Breaking himself away from that rabbit hole, he nodded his thanks and stepped up beside her, offering her his arm.

When she looked back at him as if he'd lost his mind, he asked, "Would-" his voice faded off into a cough, but he swallowed and started again. "Would you please accompany me to the staffroom?" He secretly hoped the unintentional wheeze might bring out Minerva's maternal side, and did a mental crow of victory as she sighed and wrapped her hand around his forearm.

The stately school administration made their way towards Severus' next obstacle course: The Staff.

/

When they arrived at the staffroom, Severus pushed open the door and motioned for Minerva to precede him inside. Their walk had been icily quiet and he had struggled to pull his Occlumency back into place to hide the fact that he'd been affected by it. With an internal girding, he stepped forward and purposefully left the door open as he walked to the head of the long, carved-mahogany meeting table.

It was unnerving how everyone just sat and stared him down, impassively waiting to judge his first words as a true Headmaster, instead of his previous role as a foisted despot ruler. He looked around the table and noted a few empty chairs. He'd done what he could to fill Charity's seat—Potter willing—and hoped his letter made its way to Nicodemus to fill Horace's and his own former post, but the Defense chair stared back at him. It haunted him with memories of the Carrow twins inflicting unspeakable Unforgivables on children. Hopefully, Remus would be gracious enough to return.

He tore his eyes away from that empty chair and noted one he could fill today. He quietly called out to the empty room, "Cuthbert," and waited for the History of Magic professor to float up through the floor.

A few surprised looks were cast his way, as if Binns' arrival were more proof to them of his Headmastery than anything else in the previous weeks since Minerva's first visit.

Good.

Chin up, he opened his address for the new school year, mentally rifling through the changes he'd requested to be made to the curriculum.

"Thank you, all, for meeting today. I wish for this to be the last unusual staff meeting for a very long time." After a dramatic pause, he spoke again, "As I'm sure you've learned, I have requested several (wheeze) changes to the current curriculum, in as much as we are allowed without board approval."

He continued on, outlining the biggest change: He wanted to wait until Second Year to sort, in the hopes that children might be less likely to judge based on which house they belonged to. He didn't want to abolish houses altogether, as they were a very valuable asset in a child's growth, involving teamwork, accomplishment, and extracurriculars. He'd always felt he'd been sorted too soon. What might have happened had he been sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, instead of Slytherin?

"Not Gryffindor?"

Minerva's pointed aside brought him to a pause in his outline, one in which he glanced sideways at his Deputy and let a small smirk curl the corner of his mouth. "Never Gryffindor."

He'd almost gotten a smile out of her for that.

He went on to talk about keeping the curricula updated, pushing the student's boundaries beyond the British Wizarding Requirements. "Our goal is to help (wheeze) each student achieve their full potential. Not just get by. I know we've all wanted (cough) to have that as our main objective, but honestly, with Voldemort in the way, that was nearly impossible (cough cough). We have the opportunity for a fresh start, here."

Pushing past his growing vocal fatigue was getting harder and harder, but he continued.

"That brings me to Ch-(ahem)-the f-former Muggle Studies post. This will require another large change. I will be working with my assistant to create a more cu-(wheeze) current syllabus for that class as well as incorporating more of Wizarding Culture in a cross-(cough)class with History of Magic. Cuthbert, you have the most experience with Wizarding Culture, pureblood history, specifically (wheeze). Do you find any issue with this course of action?"

The ghost in question looked more surprised than anyone else and Severus was led to believe what Minerva had said about him being ignorant of current affairs. He repeated himself, "Cuthbert? Do you agree to this change (cough)?"

The gleam in his ghostly eyes was the first life he'd seen in Binns in a long time. "Yes, Headmaster. Of course."

"You will be requ(ahem)ired to actually engage the students. No more of this droning on and on (cough) about the Goblin Rebellions, (ahem) and the children need to learn as much as they can about recent events. I want them to know every facet of the Voldemortian Wars (cough cough) – the wherefore and the how." His speech dissolved into a coughing fit and he quickly patted his pocket for the next dose of potion. They needed to see him taking the treatment, anyway, so he might as well do it then and there. Conjuring a glass of water and enlarging the rack of potions, he took a dropper from the first bottle and mixed three drops in. Everyone watched in fascination as he downed the glass, but he noticed some were glancing from Poppy to Minerva. Either she'd not prepared them or she'd not been believed, but a few mutinous chins relaxed upon seeing such a clear confirmation of Harry's story to the Prophet that he'd been mauled.

Once Severus' coughing fit subsided, Binns proved himself more engaged than expected by asking very pointedly, "Which version of events am I to portray?"

This blatant challenge got Severus' dander up, but he kept calm, banished the glass tumbler, and looked down his nose to the three-hundred year old specter. "You are," he glanced pointedly at each staff member, "all to portray the truth. In vivid detail, if pressed. I want no more of Dumbledore's sugar-coated glazing of select truths, nor do I want Dippet's flagrant disregard of facts."

"Hear, hear." He nodded his thanks to Rolanda's support, and heard a quiet muttering from Bathsheba's and Aurora's direction to the tune of thinking he was being hypocritical.

"Professor Babbling, Professor Sinistra? If there something you wish to say, please speak up."

Their small joking smiles faded as they both snapped their heads in his direction, then looked nervously between him and Minerva. That old cat simply looked from them to him, leaving him with no choice but to encourage their participation with a raised eyebrow. "Don't be shy. I'm sure there's much that needs to be put on the table, so to speak."

Their blushes had apparently strangled their larynges, for neither spoke.

It was a slightly imperious voice from the other end of the table that had him lifting his gaze to the school matron, "Why are you wheezing and coughing so much? What did you just take for it?"

His first reaction to Poppy's question was to wince, but he controlled that reaction quickly. Next, he had to tamp down the natural reaction of telling her it was none of anyone's business and to leave him alone. Severus wanted a transparent leadership, and in order for that to work, he needed to answer Poppy's question.

He pulled the first bottle out to hold where it would catch the light. "This is a potion for healing the nerves that were torn in my throat when Nagini tried to kill me."

"But Harry said in The Prophet…" Hagrid looked sheepish when everyone gave him their attention and shut up quickly.

There was a nervous tension in the room, and he felt this was a turning point. Gently, he encouraged the half-giant, "Speak up, Rubeus. Everyone is wondering what you were going to say."

His reaction seemed to be the right one, as even more staff relaxed and one or two even smiled. Filius motioned to Hagrid to continue and smiled between them. The groundskeeper shyly continued, "Right. Um. Well, Harry said in The Prophet that you actually had died, that's all. But you're standin' there… I'm just confused. Which is it?"

Every eye turned back to him and he felt the burn of their focus. Everyone wanted to know what happened. He tried prying his cravat away from his neck, but it was wound too tightly. Clearing his throat gently, he looked around the table and saw barely-bated anticipation. He didn't feel like going into vivid detail, especially as Potter's story gave the gist of it, but if he didn't say or do something right then, he'd lose them. These people were on the brink of forgiving him and if showing off something as private as his scars would push them over the edge, then so be it.

With a show of reluctance, he slowly reached up to untie his cravat. Unwinding it from around his throat seemed to take forever with the entire staff staring him down, but once it was off, he unbuttoned the top button of his crisp white shirt and pulled the left collar aside to show the ghastly scar still pink from healing. He knew from this afternoon at Spinner's End that it looked like a wet splat on his neck with a dark red weal in the middle.

At least it was no longer suppurating, he supposed.

When the fascinated horror abated from his audience, he quietly rewound his neck-cloth (leaving it untied) and answered the Care of Magical Creatures professor. "Academically, I did die." His voice was deep with emotion, but he put a lid on it and continued, "The average wizard can recover from being clinically deceased for less than five minutes. When Mister Potter had the sense to send a Healer after me during the heat of battle, I was recovered."

The hint of awe spreading around the room was becoming embarrassing, so he quickly segued, "Now. I believe we have strayed enough from the agenda for today. Minerva, has everyone besides Cuthbert been caught up on the changes required of them?"

Her expression was slightly disturbed, but her voice was even, "Yes, Severus, of course."

He turned back to the rest of the room, "Are there any more questions?"

Septima piped up for the first time, "Who will be teaching the three empty posts?"

He'd hoped to skip over that until he'd had return letters from everyone. Chagrined, he arched a brow at the arithmancy mistress. As if she weren't able to conjecture. Regardless, he answered the question as best he could. "I have requested that Remus Lupin return as the Defense instructor, and have written a letter to Master Nicodemus Jones of the United States to take up the Potions position. You are familiar with the former, and the latter is the premier potions researcher at Salem Institute."

He received a mixture of stun, relief, and curiosity, but Septima was like a dog with a bone, "And the Muggle Studies position?" She looked dead at Aurora and Bathsheba, who seemed to share a smirk before all three looked to him in challenge.

It would be a long time before he was forgiven for witnessing Charity's murder, wouldn't it? He was sooner forgiven for directly murdering the former Headmaster, odd form of euthanasia that it was. He internally sighed and glanced at Minerva. She sat still as stone and gave him no help whatsoever – not that he'd expected any. Well, then it was time to drop his little bomb and see what happened.

"I have written to Mister Harry Potter and asked him to take the position."

There. No one would have expected that, especially after he'd kicked him out of his room at St. Mungo's so often.

They didn't. The sussurus about the room almost made him smile. Minerva's hopeful expression created another small curve at the left side of his mouth.

"If there's nothing else to cover, I bid you good afternoon. Please have your adjusted syllabi on my desk by the end of the week."

With a smart turn and snap of his billowing academical, he exited through the still-open doorway in order to attempt to make it to his office before anyone caught up with him.

He'd nearly made it.

Minerva called out to him just as he approached the sentinel gargoyle. She was slightly out of breath as she approached him. "Ooh, you're a spry thing for just getting out of hospital, aren't you?" Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she saw the gargoyle spring to life and bow to him.

She cleared her throat and looked back at him. "Why didn't you tell me about Harry coming back?"

He looked to the floor, then cut his eyes back up to her. Did he need to use Potter's name to ease his path? "Does it make a difference?"

"Well, of course! Everyone will be happy to see Harry, and Remus, again."

"The implication, of course, being 'not me'."

Her mouth floundered open as she stuttered across a plaintive, "What?" once she realized her faux-pas.

He nodded gravely and stepped towards the revolving staircase. "I'm well aware of _that._"

She called after him, but he placed his hand on the column beside him, urging Hogwarts to guard his door before she could follow him up. He heard the stone grinding of the gargoyle shifting into place and sighed in relief that he at least had the school on his side.

It was time to write to his assistant. Perhaps Miss Granger could be persuaded to be on his side, as well. She was renowned for championing lost causes, wasn't she?

xoxo

end chapter - next one coming right up!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: As promised, here's the next chappie. don't be too cruel, I'm still rusty and did not take the time to beta this (however I do thank and love the wonderful Perry Downing for the inspiration!) )

**Chapter 5**

Hermione rather thought she should be nervous, heading off to actually work for Professor Snape, but she still felt that quiet coldness that had fallen upon her after the war, and then settled in when she received notification of her parent's death. It was that quiet chill that had finally driven the last wedge between her and Ronald, actually.

He was trying desperately to move on with life with the typical Weasley warmth and aplomb, but Hermione just couldn't. Her life had fundamentally _changed_. She was so completely different-minded on the way to get through her grief than Ronald, and neither of them could find the way to be as close as they had been before.

Unfortunately, that chill turned into a bitter freeze as she realized the futility of her lifelong dream to work for Magical Creature rights. As soon as the Wizarding world had a chance to set things right and start over with a fresh new Ministry, they'd just brought everyone back to where they had been and hoped the chaos and destruction from the war would just magically go away.

If she thought the beaurocratic red tape was going to be a challenge before the war...she shook her head and shrunk the last of her necessities into her ever-present and ready beaded bag. Everyone was ridiculously holding on to their antiquated views ever more strongly, now.

After the private investigator charged with sending her information on her parent's whereabouts in Melbourne informed her of their fatal accident, Hermione just didn't have the energy to fight, anymore.

What was the point?

With a quick twist, she Apparated to Hogwart's front gate.

It was pouring.

It was the Western Highlands in summer, of course it was pouring. With a long-suffering sigh, she threw up an umbrella charm, a drying charm and a water-repellent charm to survive the walk up to Hogwarts as presentable as possible.

"Ooh, look at you with your pretty magic. Saves me the trouble of holding an umbrella over yer head, at least."

"Oh!" She jumped back at least a foot in surprise at Filch's sudden arrival to unlock the gates. Hadn't she read somewhere that the gatepost had a secret tunnel? Perhaps the caretaker used this to get the jump on unwelcome visitors.

Then again, he did have a second umbrella hanging from his belt.

"Good afternoon, Mister Filch. Thank you for meeting me on this dreary afternoon."

He nodded and started down the cobbled path to the school, "Oh, you should've seen it this morning. Pissing buckets, it was."

She navigated several slick stones and tried to keep up with his brisk pace, "Mmm. H-how is Mrs. Norris?"

His wizened old face turned from his normal soft sneer, to a hardened frown. "She's gone missing. Ever since that lunatic beat my poor castle to pieces, she's gone."

Loss. Here was a man with a loss, and she could empathize. "I'm very sorry, Mister Filch. I lost my Crookshanks last summer. He ran off at the Weasley's wedding before—well, you know."

He stopped walking and turned a sad face to her. "Mebbe they're running around the Forest together."

She nodded, not pointing out that Crookshanks would have had to have traveled from Southeastern England to Western Scotland by himself. Not that he couldn't … but the likelihood … She smiled and followed him on.

It was odd, being back here. Everything looked perfect, like nothing had ever happened. No boulder was out of place, no telltale stench of war, no exploded earth or hex burns on the castle walls...

It felt strange.

She saw the final battle in flashes of memory as she walked by each place she'd been before, almost as if she'd lived in another time. Hogwarts was at once intimately familiar and exotically foreign to her with these new feelings of displacement.

Mister Filch was waiting at the main doors as she climbed the entry steps. His voice echoed out roughly on the rainy August afternoon as he spoke, "The Headmaster has changed your meeting location from his office to the third floor corridor." With a sneer he remarked, "I'm sure you remember the way."

She just stared blankly at him. Didn't they just share a moment over their lost cats? Why had he suddenly turned nasty? Her voice hardened as she replied, "Thank you, Mister Filch," over her shoulder as she sailed past.

It wasn't like she'd ever done anything against him, but that was par for the course for Hermione Granger. One wrong move—or kind of heritage—and be judged by it forever. She took a deep breath and sighed it out, removing herself from the slight as she climbed the moving staircases.

As she reached the third floor corridor, she stopped to orient herself and listened for any sign of where her new employer could be.

His voice came up out of nowhere and nearly scared the Dickens out of her. Twice in one day, what was becoming of her?

"I see Argus delivered my message."

She winced and turned around, smoothing her face into a professional greeting, but was momentarily thrown off track by Professor Snape's unusual appearance.

He was wearing gray.

It was actually quite nice to see him in something other than unrelieved black, and made her wonder if perhaps this might be an indicator of the change in the man from what she knew...before. Shaking her thoughts free, she addressed him with a smile,

"Headmaster. Lovely to see you again." Stretching out her hand, she waited until it was obvious he didn't want to return the greeting before retracting her arm as if nothing were out of place. She cleared her throat to try and regain his attention, but he was looking over her left shoulder. She shifted slightly to the left and said, "So. Where do we start?"

Interestingly enough, Snape had never sneered during his lack of greeting. He'd just seemed entirely too preoccupied to return it. His reverie broke from staring down the hall and he turned his head down to her abruptly. "Here, of course."

She blinked. "Of course." Why would she have asked such a silly question? Determined to move forward, she asked, "Would you be so kind as to explain why we are on the third floor, then?"

He must have gathered a bit of her tone, for his only response was a mild glare and a muttered, "Impertinence."

Hermione sighed. Was this, then, what she could expect from him? Complete disregard for the person in front of him and muttered invectives? Willing herself to push forward and try one more time, she started, "Professor Snape-"

He quickly interrupted her with a sharp, "Severus."

Her eyebrows snapped together in confusion, but tried again, "Professor-"

"Severus." His tone was such that she really shouldn't argue. All right then, fine. She sighed again and with a very level look, replied, "Severus, then. And you called _me_ impertinent. I am, apparently, here at your specific request. What do you want me to do?"

His eyebrows worked a bit, but she seemed to have finally gotten his attention. Good. She reached into her bag for a dicto-quill and a spiral notebook, setting them aloft beside her with a flick of her wand.

"For starters," He glared at the acid green quill and gave it a very interesting look that spoke of disgust. "For starters, you can put that thing away. I am by no means a dictator, in any sense of the word."

With a dubious expression, she flicked her wand again to banish the quill and pad back into her beaded reticule. "Could have fooled me."

He narrowed his eyes and rejoined, "I can also do without the snide comments."

She favored him with a bark of laughter that showed him just how ironic she thought his statement to be. He favored her with a patented Snape Glare.

He took a deep breath, straightened up and tugged his atypical gray teaching robes down in a manner that suggested he was done with that topic. She waited.

"I wanted us to meet here because other than the girls' bathroom, this is where your adventures here began."

He had her attention, now.

"Your focus here will not only be to handle my ministerial and gubernatorial relations, but also to help me make some rather important changes to the way things are done at Hogwarts. As your first task, I want you to sort this corridor into a first year dorm. Boys that way, girls this way, or whichever. We will maintain houses, but children will no longer be sorted wet from the boat. They will be sorted as second years. This will allow them ample time to make their year friends without house prejudices getting in the way."

She was stunned. This was indeed something that had been bothering her about the Hogwarts system. If she'd only been able to wait and study the houses before committing, but… "How will we keep track of points?"

"Points, Miss Granger?"

She raised her own eyebrow to match his. Tilting her head at the absurdity of his using her surname when insisting on his given one, she countered with, "Hermione."

He nodded distractedly and twirled his hand, wordlessly asking her to continue.

Taken aback at this weird form of Snape before her, she clarified, "One of the few things I was proud of in my first few weeks of school was my ability to gain points. I could at least curry favor with my fellow Gryffindors with that, if not my winning personality. If another Muggleborn comes through and has no idea who's who, they'll be in a similar situation."

A spark lit on Snape's face and she was again surprised. "Ah! Exactly! With your usual precision, you've hit the nail straight on the head—"

"Erm—"

"—Children are forced into a role entirely too soon and if they've not been brought up in the same groups as others – trust me, this also happens in pureblood and half-blood families, not just muggleborns – then they feel ostracized. If we can make the entire First Year band together, regardless of House, then by the time we _do_ sort them, they'll already have interhouse friendships."

Hermione was poleaxed. An excited and… _passionate_ Snape was something she'd never thought she'd see. He'd not answered her question on points, but at this moment, she wasn't sure the 'point' was worth pursuing. Snapping her mouth shut, she shoved the weirdness stirring inside of her down into an unmarked shelf in her brain. "While I think that's absolutely brilliant, you just said you want me to sort out an abandoned part of the castle into a fifth dorm...in two weeks?

He turned away and started pacing, as if his excitement were difficult to contain, "Yes. If anyone can do this, you can." She was about to refute this vote of confidence, but he steamrolled right over her, "Call on the house elves or Argus if you need anything. Magic will be sufficient and likely to do the rest."

Magic? "Right. I just happen to know all those spells." Where on earth did this man get his ideas?

He nodded at her words and ignored her sarcasm. "Good. I'll see you in the great hall for dinner then."

At that, he swept away and left her standing, completely flabbergasted, in the once-forbidden corridor.

She snapped out of her gobsmacked expression and looked around. All right then. Time for an inventory. Pushing up her sleeves, she snapped out the dictoquill and set to work. Never let it be said Hermione Granger didn't rise to the challenge.

And just what the hell was that _Jane Eyre_ reference about? She blushed and kept walking.

xoxo

A/N: Ok, it's short, but interesting, yes?


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